Breaking The Habit
by TheAllonsyGirl
Summary: Sara and Greg are engaged and due to be married in 3 weeks, but their relationship is a disaster zone due to Greg's drinking and possible drug problem, can they make it? Can he set himself free or will they be dead in the water?


Sara walked into the bedroom, Greg having slammed the front door to escape yet another row. She wasn't in the wrong so she wouldn't play into that game. She had to find proof that he was truly under the influence when he behaved that way. If he wasn't, then she would just crumble completely. They were engaged, and she was frightened, because she didn't want to lose her fiancé to those demon drugs. She gradually started pulling out the drawers, searching through them, hoping to find something and nothing at the same time. She came across letter and a journal which she placed aside. Although she knew it would be wrong to read them she knew she had to, otherwise she would just fall apart. They say there should be no secrets in marriage or relationships at all, but she knew he was hiding something; she had to find out what it was. She hoped it was drugs, and that it wasn't. She had to find something though, before it was too late…

She heard banging and crashing out in the kitchen and knew better than to go out and ask him what was wrong. Sara felt so hopeless; did he think that she would be mad at him? She wouldn't be mad, she'd help him and guide him to solace. She used to be his solace. She sighed, a tear flooding her bambi eye as she wondered what the hell had happened to them. The noise stopped and all was silent. She sat with her back to the radiator and put her head in her hands. She felt like banging her head against the wall, she was climbing the walls not knowing, completely helpless. They were getting married in three weeks. Well, maybe they were. How could she marry him, when they would both be marrying into hell?

She picked herself up from the floor and thought about everything that had happened last night; his harsh words echoing around her mind. He called her a bitch more times than she cared to remember, accusing her of everything, and yet nothing at the same time. She knew she had to do something. She was so close to cancelling the wedding, just to get away from all this, from him. She hated herself for even thinking that way but what else could she do? She was miserable and so was he. He was trapped in Hell by drink, maybe drugs too and she was the one having her heart destroyed, he wasn't the only one whose mind was faltering. She looked at the arm she had so mercilessly attacked yesterday, the one Greg hadn't noticed. He didn't notice anything anymore it seemed, except when his bottle was empty it seemed. He always insisted that he didn't have a problem and that he just enjoyed a drink, but they both knew that wasn't true. She sidled over to the door and looked cautiously out if the crack it left. Greg was sat in the middle of their lounge, his head in his hands and a half-empty vodka bottle next to him. He was crying, for what she wasn't sure. Was it remorse? Pain? Despondency? Guilt? She longed to go out and embrace him, tell him it was all right, anything she could to bring her baby.

Greg picked himself up off the floor and stumbled to the bedroom door. His vision was blurred and he felt sick, most likely with guilt than anything else. He pushed the door slowly open a crack so he could see into the bedroom. It was dark and he couldn't make out Sara in the gloom. He turned on the dimmer switch so that the low light pervaded the room a little so he could see. Sara was curled up on the bed, she had a photograph of him and her in her hand. She looked tired and drawn out. He surveyed the mess that was surrounding him. Broken glass from yesterday, which both of them were too tired to clean up. There were clothes, torn paper and overturned objectives all over the floor. Drawers were pulled out and the contents scattered, whatever Sara had been doing he knew now she didn't trust him. That was probably a good idea; he didn't even trust himself anymore.

Sara woke to find Greg surveying the chaos of the room, a look of dismay was clouding his beautiful yet pallid features. She desperately tried to search his eyes for something, anything that reminded her that he was still Greg, still hers, still there. She found nothing. He was staring at the wall, his empty eyes had lost their gleam, and she pleaded silently with him to turn her way. He did, and she gazed at him, smiling just a little. He walked over to the bed and sat beside her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, his tear-stained face glistening slightly in the low lights. "I know," Sara whispered back, "I know you are, you always are," her voice was tired and low, her usual velvet tones gone with her heart. "You know I don't remember, I-I can't remember, I just know that I hurt you some way or another," Greg sighed, and stared at the floor before carrying on, "It's too complicated to explain," he began, "It's like a red mist, and I don't know, it's like I'm asleep, when really I'm awake and doing the unimaginable. This isn't me, you have to know that Sara," he emphasized. Sara nodded slightly, she did know that, but she didn't know why. Her voice broke when she tried to speak again; "I gotta know why baby, what's going on in your head? I love you. God I have to stop, if I cry I-," she sighed and took several deep breaths. "If you cry what?" Greg's voice was a mere whisper. "I know that if I start to cry over this again, anything at all, I know…I just know I won't be able to stop…" She looked into his eyes; her voice had eliminated all traces of anger between them both. It was finished, for now all was forgiven. Still it didn't matter; they both knew that this very scene would probably play a hundred times more, until one of them gave up on their happy ending.

Sara walked over to the curtains and peeped through the middle. It was early morning, but she had no idea what time it was. She fumbled around after her cell phone to find out. She found it under the bed, broken in two, more aftermath from last night. She turned back to the curtains and let a small crack of light creep under the damask material onto the alarm clock. It was four-thirty in the morning and Greg was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't surprised, there was the apologies and then came the disappearance. She went out into the open plan apartment floor and pulled a cup from the rack. She walked around to the other side of the cabinet for the teapot and stopped dead in her tracks. The cup slipped from her hand and smashed into pieces. Lying there, unconscious, and showing all the signs of an overdose, was Greg.


End file.
